John had brown black eyes that looked like they belonged on one of
the small toys you get on a keychain that’s an animal but you can’t quite pin point what kind.
I took no time to say “You have big eyes” which in my mind warranted
staring into them most of the night.
His hair was a brown blunt cut which was awkward and he knew it, hiding it in a beanie and when he took it off he’d tousle it and then tuck it behind his ears.
“I use spray to give it volume.”
And then, as if I didn’t take his word for it, said:
So I… did.
What a nice way to break the ice so early on in the evening!
Maybe I’ll use that next time.
We went for drinks at two places and after he pushed me against the smoking area’s brick wall.
His mouth tasted dry and like lager. The kiss itself wasn’t life changing but I was swept up by his dominance which took me by surprise. As people were staggering out of bar, they wolf whistled and I felt a bit like when I had my first kiss at 17 and everyone clapped. After a half hour more of kissing on various brick walls in Hackney, he moved my hand down to his crotch.
“No… we can’t…” he muttered, as if I had put it there.
Eventually we decided to go our separate ways. He was going left, I was going right and when he said “See ya” I blurted
“Love you… byeeee!”
I broke out in hives on the way there and needed the toilet so had to stop in the Whitechapel Gallery loo beforehand and even took a shot of the vodka I had brought with me. We were both broke.
To say I whooped his ass was an understatement, at one point even saying
“If I get a strike I have tekkers!”
And I did!! Right then and there! Did winning feel good? No, the sweet taste of victory was soured. Not even the animated bowling bowls on the screen gave me a kick- because, I wanted him to win, him to feel like the winner, and frankly I felt a bit like an alpha male on lane 7. (God I’m so selfless!)
The night carried on.
We went to a quaint bar in Hoxton where we sat on a booth and I told him the traumatic story of New Years.
“On that note, I need to go to the loo.”
and when he came back he said
“I feel the urge to kiss you.”
as if a story of incest and infidelity was an aphrodisiac. Fair.
Night caps were had at a trashy club where we kissed to “Beautiful Girls” by Sean Kingston and “Tonight” by Neyo. The clientele and music alone were the stuff of nightmares, but he didn’t seem to be embarrassed at all, even mouthing the lyrics which made me look up to him a bit.
At the tail end we sat outside staring into each other’s eye which was quite “The Notebook” of us and then he broke the silence with:
“I’m going to fuck you good.”
It was the run up to lockdown so we met at The Lexington, somewhere near enough for me to get an Uber. He was there before me, and the first thing that came out his mouth was
“I have a present for you.”
“No way! What is it?”
And he reached into his pocket to reveal a Wispa chocolate bar.
“Aww, thanks. I love chocolate!”
“Yeah, I didn’t finish it at lunch so thought you’d like it.”
I took the thing, put it in my bag and he looked punctured.
“Oh, straight in the bag!”
Conversation swiftly hopped in the bin, and I knew this when I started miming a pizza being put in a wood fire oven. Luckily a man named Bob alleviated things out in the smoking area.
“Cor, I just can’t seem to lose weight no matter how hard I try. Even if I did, nobody would care.”
We spent a good twenty minutes talking Bob down and telling him his weight didn’t define him. Then inside it was back to me clutching at straws, asking “What’s your darkest secret?” which, quel surprise, he couldn’t answer.
Since he’d been gassing how “good he’d fuck me” I thought he should put his money where his mouth was. Ironically, I ended up doing so. The date before I had self proclaimed myself as “Daddy Warbucks” which is a bit perverse and a bald faced lie, (I don’t have have a formal job.) It started off as a joke, but “Daddy” ended up buying the Uber to his (on the other side of London) because his “phone died” and we sat there in the back.
“Shall we listen to some music?” and I tossed him a headphone and we road in silence listening to tracks off my “I’m lovin it” playlist. (A cult classic if you ask me.) Then his hand moved over to mine and I interlaced my fingers in his.
“Oh… I just wanted to change the song.”
I think the Uber driver even laughed. Mazel Tov.
Back at his.
It was a nice place, the kind of clean that would’ve made a murder plausible, with nice illustrations framed and Pinterest esc plants potted around the gaff. Was I surprised? Yeah- I even gushed “Wow. This place is NICE!!”
Up 2 his room
He took no time to light a purple scented candle which I thought was cute, and then we made our way to his bed (gross!!). Not gross but that sounded so clinically put.. “we made our way to get bedded.” Nasty!
Anyway, we undressed and I was pretty pleased because I had worn a bra that had been collecting dust for the “right moment’. It had red ribbon and red lips on it. Things started off well- I mean, I was saying all the “right” things, (stuff I’d learnt online), but then something happened that left me reeling and I bolted for the loo. When I looked in the mirror I had built up a heat rash.
“I have a heat rash.”
I said as I emerged back into the room, that was well lit with a wall lamp. I was wearing his top and boxers which fit my ass like the type of hot pants they wear in Magic Mike.
“Oh, ok. I get them too.”
Then we watched a bit of Netflix and when he switched it off, he meagrely placed his hand on my hip, which felt a bit like drinking a cup of boiling water when promised an Earl Grey. The cat slinked in, which was black and kind of attractive and he caressed her and cooed:
“I just had sex!” which she probably didn’t want to hear.
I failed to mention that I had allergies (my therapist thinks this was self destructive lol) so I spent the night, unable to sleep, wheezing with red eyes, like I had puff puff passed one too many times. I was sick with nerves, turning over the sex in my mind and could feel his baggy grey top wet with sweat.
8AM rolled around
and I was still awake and my stomach was in knots and I could hear his flat mates tottering around the place which was weird since it was a Saturday!! What WERE they up to? His hand now was far removed and he had rolled over to the other side of the bed. More sweating and heart racing. Would my stomach take a day off with all the rumbling!! But it didn’t and I felt something bad was about to happen and I tried to stop it but I couldn’t and that’s when I-
I let out a fart.
I held my breath and got out my phone to text my friends and I pressed the wrong button and “Rain” by Aitch started blaring loudly and I whispered “Sorry!!” More sweating. And then tip toed to the loo to top up my concealer and waited 3 more hours until he woke up.
When his eyes opened I let out a yawn as if I too, was just waking up- like, how are we so in sync?! He didn’t say anything to me and I call I could muster up was
“Wow I’m hungover!” which didn’t get a reply and my biggest pet peeve is over staying a welcome so I put out a feeler.
“Well, I should probably get an Uber then.”
Silence again, and I took that as a “hell yeah u should” so I ordered the damned Prius and it said “1 minute away” (when does this happen?) so frantically starting searching for my leopard print underwear (hello Joe Exotic), wedged down the side of bed, and put on my clothes.
“Well then…thanks for having me.”
“Thanks for coming- literally.”
And my anxiety was replaced with anger. Anger that he was so smug, lying there thinking he had made me come. He of course, hadn’t and the fact he had bought y performance made me think that I should reconsider a career in acting.
Then I jumped in the Uber home, driving down the motorway, passing by Toys R Us and Ikea, listening to Nicki Minaj and I wondered… ‘did she ever fart’?
‘As if’, I decided, and as I cracked the window, whispered to myself ‘another one bites the dust.’